Socializing and Censorship at an Early Age.

There is a difference between socializing and socialization. Socializing (verb) means “to mix socially with others.” While the noun socialization means “to make someone behave in a way that is acceptable to their society.” In other words, besides being mistakenly and incorrectly transposed by many to conveniently refer to the later of the two definitions, the one has little to do with the other.

I’ve been socializing the kids more and more often these last few months: going to the park later in the morning when organized playgroups and daycare center providers bring their kids to run, roam, and beat each other up; going to the beach later in the day and on the weekends, and making frequent visits to the “fish store,” a.k.a. PetSmart, after 3 pm or on the weekends to expose the kids to youths, usually a couple of years older, to help them become more comfortable around large and noisy groups of people. I would rather not do this. By preference, I would rather get my kids to the park early in the morning, between 8:30 and 9 a.m., before the droves of brats push and pull their way onto the same ride my kids had been riding before hell’s doors opened to horde of size 3s so that we can do other things together throughout the remainder of our mornings; and, I would rather not be sandwiched between four fourteen-member families speaking Spanish and chain-smoking Parliament’s at the beach, but we do it. It’s important to us that our children are at ease in a number of environments and conditions– even at the greatest inconveniences to us.

What we do NOT do is pretend our kids are being socialized or obtaining some sort of socialization among the throngs of human bodies on a crowded playground, in store aisles, or packed in like sardines along the waterfront. No. Providing my children with the skills and habits necessary for acting and participating within our diverse society is my job. It takes work. It takes time. It takes patience. And if left for society to handle, like so many of the other children we run into, daily, I’m afraid our beautiful children would slowly turn into the incorrigible imps we vainly try to avoid every other day at those same “exposure” spots.

What amazes me, and upsets me to the highest degree, are the number of parents whom allow their latchkey kids to ramble throughout the playground and beach we frequently visit without a care or concern for their child’s welfare or the safety of other children around their kids. Today, for example, Taylor and Simon were playing on one end of a long wooden park Jungle Jim type construction. On the other end were several older children, all around six years old, playing, climbing, and jumping rather roughly on and around each other. Sooner or later the gaggle inched their way closer to where my kids were playing. Now, Taylor and Simon are finally at the point where they are interested in playing near, side-by-side, and even interacting a little bit with other children. For their ages, this is normal behavior. I’ve encouraged this. It’s good for them. For the most part, I kept quiet and allowed the kids to intermingle as I stood off on the sidelines and finished my third cup of coffee. However, far more than a dozen times, I had to gently speak to these kids and remind them to be careful around the younger children and to even leave our toys and food– packed off to the side of the playground and away from the rides– alone. Sadly, the mothers to these little fairies were less than 25 feet away, about the same distance I was, and they said nothing. Nothing! Not one cautionary word, direction, or interaction. Talk about teachable moments slipping through one’s fingers. Since when was it okay to eat someone else’s food without asking? Ironically, more than once was I on the receiving end of a perturbed look of indignation by one of the two women– the one, of course, paying more attention to her incoming text messages than her three darling delinquent’s behaviors. The second woman, while at least playing with her youngest, an infant, had no control over her elder three and five-year-old as they commingled with the roughest of boys. Silence is condoning.

I’m begrudgingly at the point of joining a playgroup so that fewer of these days occur. It gets real tiring being the playground “police officer” and surrogate father figure to the worst of someone else’s neglected offspring. My reluctance is weakened knowing the primary reasons for not wanting to join or start a playgroup is because I do not want to give up my freedom to choose when or if we go to the park or some other outing event. Once I commit to something, I commit. But hey, when was the last time I did something purely for myself, anyways?